


The Phone Call

by K_Fiction_Therapy



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: CNC, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fanfiction, Fetish, Fic, Fiction, Gen, Kink, Kinky, Masturbation, Monster - Freeform, Monsters, One Shot, Phone Call, Phone Sex, Psychological Trauma, Ruben Victoriano - Freeform, Ruvik - Freeform, STEM, TEW - Freeform, Vocal, Voice Kink, cum, voice fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 03:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17398973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Fiction_Therapy/pseuds/K_Fiction_Therapy
Summary: You may have escaped STEM, but Ruvik still found ways to reach you.





	The Phone Call

You had done it. You had escaped STEM, and not only had you survived--but you were now thriving. You had made it into your own personal Safe Haven and had managed to get your life on the rails once more—though not without a few sparks of clashing metal along the way. A year after you’d been neurologically raped by men who were nothing more than a whisper in the ear of conspiring scientists, determined to lay waste to the mental fibers of so many--and now, you were cured; healed even. You felt better than you ever had, saw clearer than your eyes had ever seen, and the nightmares were becoming more infrequent, less terrifying. 

Sitting in your bedroom, legs crisscrossed and hands on your knees, you attempted to meditate. Even as your shoulders relaxed, you heard gentle words pattering against your ear drum. “You may find this useful.” Feminine words that you had tried so hard to dissolve from your memory, now just rung like dinner bells in your head. You had never truly seen Tatiana, only having heard her through bars and walls, the nurse’s voice something unusual to you—nowhere, yet ever present. Sebastian had told you in passing that she was more friend than foe; but you had a bit of a hard time believing him, after all the things he’d been through, seen and now done. Had he ever left STEM, truly? 

Your thoughts had begun to compound and suddenly your heart felt heavy, as if you were beginning to fret, or gently panic. Deferring to the coping mechanisms, you had been taught, you found yourself slightly more optimistic, even in this moment of reflection. Your therapist had told you so many times that meditation would help you calm yourself after a busy day, but you found yourself too scatterbrained to quiet your own thoughts. Sighing deeply after a few moments, you gave up quite easily and laid back, stretching out like a cat in the sun, sleep shirt riding up a bit, showing flesh free of scars—but what kinetic energy lay beneath that surface?

Krimson City outside of your window was silent for once, oddly so, and you found a calmness in that fact, your muscles relaxing slowly into the bed, as if you were sinking into the mattress itself, becoming one with it. You wondered if sleep would finally find you here, if it would take you into its arms and hug you blissfully as it had before everything had happened. Insomnia was a cruel mistress, and even though Krimson was a city of lights, much like New York, or Chicago; it did indeed sleep; and most nights it slept better than you did. Most people who lived in the city were miraculously in bed by nine, and the shops closed long before ten—which didn’t make for the most exciting night life. There was one club, “Obscura”, that stayed open until three in the morning, but you didn’t dare step into a den of weirdos like that, something about the word itself making your skin feel just a bit prickly.

Though you had managed to calm yourself to the point of relaxation, your cell phone to the left of you began to buzz, breaking your thought process with a startling noise, making you jump. Blinking, you looked to it, the vibration rather loud, and silently you cursed yourself for leaving it on such a setting. Picking it up, you stared at the numbers “000-000-0000″ and found yourself transfixed, your eyes reading them over and over. Curious as you could have been, you answered it expecting to hear a telemarketer, or bill collector even at this hour—but, when you put the phone to your ear, a familiar voice flooded your brain, and you felt as if you were immediately on fire. 

“I know what you want…What you crave…” The voice wasn’t deep, but it had scratches behind it like some old record or beaten recording. The warbling made you feel almost nauseous, and as tears began to well in your eyes, you knew it had to be a practical joke of some kind. 

“Who is this?” You spat, sneering into the receiver of the phone. You couldn’t think of one person that would do this sort of sick thing to you; you didn’t have that many enemies. 

“You know who this is...the same as I know who you are…The brain doesn’t so easily forget.” The voice replied, the sound of a sickeningly deviant smile hanging on to every syllable that passed those lips—you could almost hear the scarred flesh through the phone. 

“This isn’t fucking funny, you can’t just play jokes on—”

“Joke? Do you find yourself laughing? Such a phenomenon of mental and physical ability…” He had cut you off mid-sentence and you found yourself shaking a bit, in complete disbelief of what was happening. Maybe you were dreaming.

“Ruvik…” You whispered, laying back on your bed, that sinking feeling taking you over once more—but this time, it was not sleep that pulled you, but rather the same abysmal terror you had felt in STEM, the same bone shaking horror.

“Yes? It’s been quite a long time since I’ve heard you say my name…” His voice crackled, as if it were cutting out of clarity, but you didn’t miss one word; not one syllable, “Or felt it through the firing synapses of your brain—the ripples in grey matter…Mm…”

“Stop…This isn’t real—” You closed your eyes tightly, a thick tear cutting through from your waterline, staining your lashes with glistening fluid. Your free hand fell at your side, fingers aligning with the hem of your shorts. You begged to wake up, to be free of whatever this was, but his voice came back online like a drumming heartbeat, ever present, and louder when you became aware of it. 

“Who is to say what is real? Me? You? STEM? Oh, isn’t it funny how the brain perceives reality? A thin line between what’s real, and what’s fake. Black, white.” His voice gained a perfect rhythm, and your fingertips drug slowly to the top of your hip, touching skin. Ruvik breathed heavy, “It’s all a perception, all a trigger in the internal construct of the human mind, and when warped? –ahhhh….that is a beautiful thing.”

“I—I—” Your hand slipped under the waistband of your shorts, and you didn’t have time to think about why you felt the need to touch yourself before your hand slipped against sensitive flesh, making your hips arch hard, your head tipping back against the pillow, lips parting slowly. You didn’t dare make a noise.

“When pleasure tickles the membrane of your primordial brain, the mind can attach that sensation to any and everything that it sees fit. It can make you feel regardless of personal attachment or motivation of the flesh. Make you shake with latent terror and with pleasure all at once—” Ruvik’s voice drummed on, and you couldn’t stop yourself from stroking faster, your fingers quickly covered with fluid, coaxing your thighs to shake and hips to wiggle. You wanted to sob, but it felt so good to be so scared. 

“Y-yeah…” Something must have been wrong with you, that line far past blurred in your mind’s eye. Your hand slipped more central, rubbing, choked sounds caught in your throat as he continued to speak.

“Do you have something like that, Y/N? Do you have something that scares the shit out of you and makes you wet at the same time? Once your brain is truly touched, do you yearn to feel that again—so much more orgasmic than sex ever could be…”

“Y-yes, I d-do….” “Oh, God, I do…” You were shaking now, enough to make the bed follow suit. Your back arched, each vertebra lifting from the bed and rolling, a space forming beneath you as you pressed more densely against your working hand. You may have moaned, but your brain was so clouded with mixed arousal that you wouldn’t have known the sounds leaving you, barely even words.

“Do you feel that line blur? That line that lay between fear and arousal? Death and sex?” His voice seemed closer, almost as if it were in both ears. Something about it spurred you on, and your toes curled a bit, eyes closing more tightly.

“Nnnn…Y-yes—” You finally moaned, but the sound was cut off as it dissolved into a helpless whimper, your chest heaving.  
“Do you?” He reiterated, sublimating the motion.

“Yes!” You were so close to orgasm, you could taste it, your brain lit up with firing nerves, dancing chemicals and rapid shock. 

“And what has so obscured your senses? Is it me?” He breathed directly into the phone.

“R-Ruvik!” Your hips lifted, and your hand moved faster, desperate and searching. 

“Yes? Say it again.” He commanded, tone dropping.

“Ruvik! Ah, fuck!” You cried out as you came undone, your resolve shattering like a mirror, the bright light forced through it, covering you with blissful pleasure. Claude Debussy’s “Clair de Lune” danced over your body, the piano keys thrumming through your veins—and even in this terrifying moment, when you are faced with the very voice that had you nearly dead, you felt almost freed. It was as if the room was more illuminated, perfect yellows and whites dancing in tandem behind your lids, begging to breath through. 

Your eyes slowly opened and did not behold the grandeur you had expected. Having soaked through your shorts, and onto your bed, you shook gently with aftershock of pleasure. The phone still against your head, you turned towards it, lashes fluttering ever so softly. You didn’t know what to feel—perhaps this all had been a dream. 

“…You’re mine.” Those words shocked you from your satisfaction and you sucked in a heavy breath as the line went dead. He had hung up. Bringing your phone to the forefront, you quickly looked at the call log—and there was nothing to be found. No zeros, no weird number, no trace of call—nothing. 

You had never dialed your therapist so quickly in all your life. It was late, and as the line rang, you found yourself at a loss. What were you going to say to him? That the man that had tormented you in STEM had somehow managed to get a working phone and call you in real life? He would put you in a home, regardless of how traumatic that setting may have been for you. Ending the call before he could answer, you let your phone fall to the bed next to you. Maybe you should just give up on sanity, because she didn’t seem to want you.

Lifting your opposite hand, you stared at the glistening flesh, thinking of your transgressions. Flexing you fingers, you sighed, blinking as a tiny shape caught your eye right above you. Fluttering orbs of red danced in the air, hovering near the ceiling. One broke free and floated down slowly, flitting this way and that as it came to you. Lifting a finger, you allowed yourself to touch the orb—and the moment it made contact, it burst, splattering you sparsely with blood. You could have screamed—but you knew no noise would leave you.

Sucking in a breath, you closed your eyes, skin shaking lightly—and when you opened them, there was a bright light in your face. Squinting to see better, though nothing would come into your view, the bed began to shake as if it were moving. Reaching out in desperation, your fingers met nothing but bars that had appeared on either side of your bed. A gurney; it had to be. You were on a gurney. As that light ate your vision whole, you would hear a voice fill the area around you with sudden sound.

“…It’s alright. We are going to take you back to your room—

\--Back home…”


End file.
